


Give and Take

by AndreaDTX



Series: Breaking Tradition [11]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Dom Bucky Barnes, Dominant Omega, Exposure therapy, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Bucky Barnes, PWP, Protective Steve Rogers, Scent Marking, Sub Steve Rogers, Submissive Alpha, lots of aftercare, lots of them actually, recovery bucky, there's a little plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:34:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26760715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaDTX/pseuds/AndreaDTX
Summary: Following decades of HYDRA abuse, Bucky hates his heat, particularly the physical vulnerability of presenting. But after considerable therapy and consideration, he decides he wants to enjoy every aspect of his mating cycle, free of their taint. Presenting during heat is something he should be able to enjoy with his Alpha. So, Bucky and Steve put together a step-by-step plan to balance what they want and what they need to overcome this final hurdle.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Breaking Tradition [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1082673
Comments: 64
Kudos: 146





	1. Step 1

**Author's Note:**

> In the comments on a couple different stories, I’ve been asked for a story about Bucky getting past his fear of being mounted. I’ve been considering this since I wrote Adapt and Overcome and was still thinking about it when I wrote Not Without You, so finally here it is. I'll be posting 2-3 times per week until all seven chapters are posted. Chapter 1-4 are ready, the rest are being edited.
> 
> PS I promised the last story in this series would be fluffier, so I will be adding at least one more since this detoured into Recovery Bucky.

The first step is simple. They sit in chairs, pulled from the dining room table into the safety of their bedroom, one lined right in front of the other. Bucky is in front, Steve’s directly behind. They’re both barefoot, in faded sweats and tees, doing nothing more than sitting still. To an outsider, it would probably seem benign if not a bit boring and weird. But only if said outsider had no working olfactory senses. Normally, their room smells heavily smoky wood and sugar sweets. Today, it’s overwhelmed by an acrid, burnt caramel stench that drowns out all but the faintest hints of warm mesquite.

“Talk to me,” Bucky mutters between gritted teeth, the words tight and strained. His right leg jitters spastically and every muscle in his body is rigid, visibly outlining his discomfort.

From where Steve sits, he can see the line of the omega’s back, each bump of his vertebrae pressed tight against his skin as the man leans forward in an unconscious attempt to gain more distance. The sturdy wood of the chair creaks under the stress of serum-enhanced fingers.

“You’re okay,” Steve murmurs softly, reassuringly. His own posture is the reverse of Bucky’s, his spine resting against the seat back, his legs pulled in and crossed at the ankle, a very intentional display of casualness.

“We’re just sitting, you and me, together. Safest place in the world, in our house, in our den.”

“How much longer?” Bucky grits out, his body swaying in a stop-and-start rocking motion.

Steve glances over at the wind-up kitchen timer. “Three more minutes.”

Bucky groans, then heaves a determined breath. “Keep going.”

“There’s nothing dangerous here. Nothing’s going to hurt you. I’m looking out for you.”

Steve keeps talking, murmuring any and everything that comes to mind to try to calm his stressed mate, but to little avail.

When the timer finally goes off, Bucky shoots out of the chair like a scalded cat. Steve stands as well, but doesn’t make any movement towards the tightly wound omega, knowing his looming would only make it worse. This is their first attempt at this particular exercise. They’ve made tremendous progress in defusing the triggers HYDRA embedded in Bucky’s psyche. But they’d left this one, a quality of life issue rather than a mental survival measure, for last. The fear of traditional mounting is so ensnared in sexual trauma, that they hadn’t dared touch it until Bucky was truly mentally recovered. Two weeks ago, he’d decided he was and his therapist agreed with him. So, the three worked together to develop a plan, a small series of steps to reacclimate Bucky to mounting and allow him to enjoy every aspect of his heat rather than begrudgingly surrendering to its demands after he was too weak to fight any more. Today’s goal: Sit for ten minutes with Steve completely in Bucky’s blind spot. The challenge is in allowing Steve to be fully out of his line of sight and trusting him not to do harm. Bucky’s ability to trust is under repair and slow-going.

Strained to his limit, Bucky prowls the confines of their room, working hard to suppress the hint of darkness wanting to bubble to the surface. He runs his hands up and down his arms, across the nape of his neck in a self-soothing motion, as though trying to smooth fur rubbed the wrong way. He mumbles his focus mantra softly to himself.

_I’m okay. We’re okay. It’s okay._

It’s hard to watch without intervening. Every alpha instinct Steve has urges him to help, to do _something._ But this has to go at Bucky’s pace. He has to be allowed to find his own footing after an emotional shakeup. Knowing that still doesn’t make it any easier to ignore the sharp, distressed scent that begs for solace, pleads to be wrapped up and coddleed, even as they both know any such gesture would be unwelcomed, maybe even aggressively rejected in this moment.

Finally, after five or so minutes of pacing, something seems to settle in the rattled man. Bucky walks up to Steve, purposefully. All it takes is one look to see that the skittish omega is gone, replaced by a single-minded Dom. He appears to consider for a moment, then slowly shifts his position until he disappears fully into Steve’s blind spot. Instinctively the Alpha tenses, knowing what’s coming. They didn’t mark this as a soft limit by accident. He gasps audibly when Bucky grips him hard and fast by the nape, metal hand scruffing him in a way that raises the hackles of every alpha instinct he has. It’s a blatant act of dominance, demanding submission with every ounce of pressure the metal digits lay against flesh. The transition is harder for Steve. His Alpha side resists subsiding without having reached a satisfactory resolution. His sub side just wants to do whatever his Dom wants whenever he wants. Steve struggles as the two desires clash, drawing a soft growl of displeasure and more pressure. He searches, searches, searches, until finally he finds that mental space where his alpha nature and his sub preferences can rest side by side allowing him to relax into the demanding embrace that would never let him fall. When he at last tilts his head, exposing the long column of his throat, signaling his full submission, Bucky gives a throaty hum of approval, licking at the exposed skin, teasing a bite he doesn’t intend to give just yet, if at all.

Using his hold on Steve’s neck, Bucky turns him, pulls him forward, so close that even a deep breath would bring them flush against each other. His free hand slides down between them to snake into and under the waistband of Steve’s sweats. The motion reminds him of clumsy fumbling so many decades ago, when they were still learning one another. With a breathy sigh, Steve drops his head on Bucky’s shoulder, further surrendering. There’s no underwear underneath to stop Bucky from wrapping calloused fingers around Steve’s length. There’d been nothing particularly sexy about chair sitting, so he’s mostly soft, but that changes quickly as Bucky pulls the rapidly filling flesh free of its confines, giving himself more room to work. A quick and dirty tugging motion has Steve going from barely interested to fully erect in less than a minute, moaning at the sharp, stinging darts of pleasure from such sudden arousal. Bucky slowly squeezes and releases the muscles in his neck, an impressive display of coordination with the contrasting motions of the hand on Steve’s cock, as he whispers filthy commands of what he wants and how fast he wants it. Bucky backs it up by turning tugs into strokes that become harder, faster, more aggressive, pushing Steve viciously towards orgasm. Steve groans at the brutal pace, squirming as his body races to catch up with Bucky’s demands. He pants desperately, sensing the edge coming at break neck pace. He has time to suck in one more breath before his body seizes then judders through a painfully sharp orgasm. He gasps weakly as his cock jerks, pulsing across Bucky’s fist, stripes of glistening fluid wetting the soft cloth of his pants. Only then does the grip on his neck, the silent demand that Steve let go and give in, relax. Bucky continues stroking his twitching cock, the movement far more languid and lazy now, working Steve through each tremor, only letting go when it’s completely over and Steve’s knees start to go weak.

When Bucky’s grip releases, Steve lifts his head and straightens.

“Do you need—”

“No,” Bucky cuts him off. “I’m fine.”

Steve nods, not wanting to push.

Sated, quickly growing flaccid, and starting to feel slightly chilled, he moves to tuck himself back into his pants, only to have his hands swatted away.

“Not until I say you can,” Bucky orders.

Not quite sure why but content to comply, Steve nods in obedience.

Satisfied, Bucky leads Steve over to the bed, pushing him to lie down. Steve goes willingly. He opens his arms without hesitation, motioning to cuddle. He barely suppresses a pleased rumble when the omega all but buries himself in Steve’s chest, rubbing his forehead against the scent gland at Steve’s neck, coating himself in the Alpha’s scent. It’s nice but a little odd, lying there in such an outwardly chaste way, fully dressed save for Steve’s cock and balls still exposed, loose and limp between them.

It’s not until Bucky’s breathing evens out and the omega is drifting to sleep that Steve can finally name that feeling. Without permission to right his clothing after the passion has faded, he feels awkward and vulnerable. And then he understands. Bucky needed Steve to feel just as off-kilter and exposed as he did before he could accept the comfort he so badly needed. Steve pulls the omega in closer, ignoring the abrasive chafe of cloth against tender skin and still-sensitive nerves, and kisses him on the forehead. He’s willing to do far weirder things in far weirder places simply because Bucky wants or needs him to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my goal for each chapter is to show them trying to balance Bucky’s omega needs with his dominant nature and Steve’s submissive personality with his alpha instinct. I do not in any way want it to come across as Steve martyring himself for Bucky’s sake. The intent is for them to do a physical act that is emotionally challenging to meet a therapy goal and then something sub/dom that lets them rebalance into their preferred ABO dynamic for cathartic release. I would love feedback that lets me know if I’m striking that balance or suggestions of how I might get there if you think I missed the mark. Thanks!


	2. Step 2

When Steve can sit behind Bucky for half an hour without triggering a minor panic attack, they decide to move onto the next step.

“Advanced Sitting 201,” Bucky says glibly.

He’s not wrong, but the intent is more purposeful. This time Steve’s sitting on the edge of the bed and Bucky’s on the floor. He’s facing away with his back resting against the side of the bed. The only place they’re touching is where Steve’s legs frame his torso. The goal is to sit for ten minutes with Steve positioned slightly over Bucky’s back. To increase the chances of success, they’ve decided Steve will pass the time brushing Bucky’s hair. In the debrief with Bucky’s therapist, they realized some of the difficulty in Step One was caused by Steve being in Bucky’s blind spot doing _nothing_ , which constantly stoked the fear that he could start doing _something_ at any moment. By having a predefined task that Bucky already enjoys, they have a focus that allows them both to relax.

Steve sets the timer and starts working, carding his fingers through the dark, not-quite-shoulder length locks. This far into recovery, Bucky has become just as fastidious about his hair as he was before the War. He even has a super fancy hairbrush, a Mason Pearson (Steve has yet to wrap his head around hairbrushes having brand names). The website they’d ordered it from on Pepper’s recommendation described it as ‘the Rolls Royce of hairbrushes.’ It has nylon spikes, rubber padding, and boar bristles. At two hundred bucks, Steve thinks it should come with several large boars and not just their bristles. But Steve also washes his hair, face, and body with the same soap, Bucky had pointed out as if that meant anything other than having a keen eye for savings opportunities. For now, Steve keeps his criticism to himself and works the brush through hair to ‘evenly distribute natural hair oil and prevent frizz.’

Steve doesn’t pay much attention to his own hair. He usually brushes it off to one side or slicks it all back if he’s feeling fancy. Bucky is far more particular, preferring his hair to be brushed in sections, in a specific order, and for each section to be brushed root to tip, thoroughly and methodically. With that in mind, Steve spends the entire ten minutes making sure Bucky’s hair is smooth, shiny, and tangle free.

“That was nice,” Bucky says softly afterwards, climbing to his feet. He doesn’t look nearly as unsettled as he did after day one of Step One. Maybe they’ll progress to Step Three faster than they’d anticipated. Turning, Bucky pulls Steve up from the bed, only to take his place and take the brush. For a brief moment, Steve wonders if Bucky actually wants to brush _his_ hair. He’s not opposed to the idea, but it’s not something he overly enjoys either.

The confusion is broken when Bucky instead tugs Steve’s sweats down to mid-thigh. He then gestures to his own lap.

“Lie down,” he commands.

Swallowing hard against his excitement, Steve readily obeys, draping his body over Bucky’s lap. He moans when a cool hand slides across the bare skin of his ass, stroking, massaging. The hand slides up, pushing the hem of his shirt out of the way, baring him from mid-back to mid-thigh. Then it presses down, a firm, reassuring weight between his shoulder blades. At the same time, Bucky’s warm flesh hand squeezes the globes of Steve’s ass, teases a finger through the crevice before sliding down to give a hard, solid rub and squeeze to his balls. Steve groans with the sweet pain of it.

“How many?” he asks, already feeling a bit dazed, checking to see if he needs to count.

“Two minutes,” Bucky answers.

Steve shivers. Not even a specific number. As many or as few as Bucky feels he should get in two minutes.

The next few seconds stretch long and slow, full of agonizing anticipation, neither of them moving or saying a word. Steve fights not to squirm, to be good and wait patiently.

The first strike of the hairbrush across his ass just where it starts to curve out from his thigh makes Steve gasp softly and arch up for more.

Thirty seconds in with Bucky striking at full strength at the exact same place has him tensing and swearing.

Fifty-seven seconds in, the first tear falls.

At one minute, eleven seconds, he whimpers, groans, and then cums all over Bucky’s thighs. The hits keep landing, not letting up for even a second.

At one minute, forty-three seconds, he’s begging Bucky to _stop, don’t stop, never stop, please, more…_

He mewls plaintively when it’s over and Bucky nudges him to reposition on the bed, hands and knees. Lightheaded and shaky, it doesn’t take long for Steve’s arms to wobble and fold and he ends up, ironically, in the classic omega presentation position.

“Look at you,” Bucky says with a laugh. “Trying to show me up.”

Steve is too out of it to laugh back, barely able to process the words over the feel of Bucky’s fingers sliding across the tight, sore skin where he’d struck over and over again, never deviating on location or intensity. When Bucky leans down to lick at it, Steve nearly topples over to the side. With a firm grip, Bucky forces him to stay up right, mouthing, sucking, trying to work a darker hickey onto the already bruised skin even as the muscle twitches under his tongue. With the first bite of hard, sharp teeth, Steve howls and his hips jerk in Bucky’s grip as he tremors, straining against the pleasure of release so soon after the last. Before the spasms even die out, Bucky pushes him down onto his belly and straddles Steve’s thighs. Steve strains to watch over his shoulder as Bucky reaches back, gathers some of his own slick to wet his cock, then grinds down against the hot, abused skin. A moan, debauched and scandalized, leaks out but Steve’s far too exhausted to do anything about it. Bucky grinds and rubs until he finally spills, his spend pale in comparison to the dark flesh it coats. He rubs it in, coating Steve in his scent and pulling out a few more weak moans before relenting.

Every morning for the next week, Steve can barely sit still in his daily briefings, shifting his weight from side to side. At one point, an overly observant junior agent offers to bring him a new chair. It’s all Steve can do to convince the agent he’s just antsy early in the morning. Across the room with his enhanced hearing, Bucky smirks knowingly. Steve is nearly scarlet with embarrassment.

But he wouldn’t mind it if they stayed at Step Two for a little while longer.


	3. Step 3

Eventually, Bucky declares himself ready to move on to the next step and Steve reluctantly agrees. It had been fun, making it easier for Bucky to sit still followed by making it _harder_ for Steve, but they did have an actual goal to reach. For Step Three they move to the living room couch. The goal is for Bucky to sit in Steve’s lap, back to chest. It’s a variation of spooning but in a less intimate location than their bed and with Steve as the big spoon. They’re shooting for their usual starting goal of ten minutes.

Already seated, wearing his usual sweats and tee, Steve’s doing his best to broadcast tranquility and safety. Bucky’s the complete opposite. Standing in front of the couch, already more wired than he’d been at any point last week, his fingers clench and unclench as he mutters the focus mantra.

Normally, Bucky’s extremely enthusiastic about climbing into Steve’s lap and having his wicked way. But that’s always face to face. Even fully clothed, he struggles with the idea of exposing his back, no matter how much he trusts Steve.

Moving slowly, allowing plenty of time for the movement to register as harmless, Steve spreads his arms across the back of the couch, exposing his entire torso in a way that would mean disaster if this went off the rails and devolved into a sudden physical brawl. But Steve’s trusting it won’t and that he’s safe.

Bucky’s eyes trail over him and seems to understand the unspoken message. After several deep breaths he nods, a determined gesture.

“Let’s do this,” he says firmly.

Wisely, Steve doesn’t mention that the omega smells ready to wage a one-man war against a genocidal, corrupt government rather than sit down for a long cuddle.

Bucky climbs on, straddling Steve’s legs and slowly lowering his weight to sit. His spine is rigid, his body stiff as a board, and he’s halfway up Steve’s thighs. That’s the only place they’re touching, but it’s enough to feel how tense he is. Steve holds perfectly still, keeps his breathing shallow, not wanting to startle the omega or make him feel pressured, silently communicating that Bucky can take all the time he needs to adjust.

A full seven minutes later Bucky is flush against Steve. He’s not relaxed, but he’s released enough tension for his scent to calm. It’s still bitter and sharp but not at imminent civil insurrection levels. A few more deep breaths and then he pulls his cellphone from the pocket of his sweats to set the timer. Afterwards, he taps a finger on his streaming app. They decided watching videos might help keep everything calm. Bucky pulls up How it’s Made like the secret giant nerd he is. A friendly Canadian voice begins explaining how rubber river rafts are manufactured. As the video continues on, the uneasiness slowly fades until the only outward sign that anything is unusual is Steve’s arms splayed unnaturally across the sofa back instead of touching the man in his lap and the occasional spasm from Bucky as he fights his startle reflex.

They’re learning about artificial eyes when the timer goes off. Steve lets out a sigh. It had been a sweet tease, a lap full of semi-relaxed omega that he can’t touch without risking causing a panic. Bucky doesn’t fly off his lap quite as fast as he did from the chair in Step One, but it’s clear he’s relieved to be back on his feet and facing Steve.

“That wasn’t so bad,” he says, as much to himself as to Steve.

“I thought it went pretty well,” Steve agrees.

Bucky shuffles his feet and then smiles. Stepping forward, he climbs back onto Steve’s lap, this time face-to-face. Steve smiles back and moves to wrap his arms around Bucky, to steady him and pull him closer, but the movement is rebuffed.

“Keep ‘em there,” Bucky orders. Leaning forward, he blankets himself over Steve, shimmies forward until their hips are pressed flush together, their mutual growing hardness rubbing against each other, separated only by the well-worn material of their sweats. The muscles of Bucky’s thighs bunch and then he starts to grind, rolling his hips firm and slow in a way that makes Steve’s eyes want to roll back in his head.

“Remember this, Stevie?” Bucky purrs. He continues dragging his length along Steve’s, building a friction that makes Steve’s stomach dip and twirl and his balls ache.

“Yeah,” Steve moans. The sound spikes sharply when Bucky nudges Steve’s chin up at an angle so he can latch onto the scent gland on Steve’s neck. The firm suckling sends thrills of arousal straight to his cock which is already nearly as hard as vibranium from the sweet rub and drag of Bucky’s motions. Steve grips the couch back tighter, fighting the urge to thrust up or to grab Bucky by the hips and force him to move faster, harder. He knows better than to try. But he can’t stop the needy whine that leaks from his throat.

“Shut it, punk. They’ll hear us,” Bucky whispers, his native Brooklyn accent far thicker than usual.

Startled, Steve pulls back to make sure Bucky hasn’t become disoriented to time and place. But he gets a saucy wink in return, urging him to play along.

He relaxes under Bucky and tries to think. He doesn’t know if Bucky’s referring to his parents and sisters from all the times they’d snuck and done this on the living room couch they bedded on his family’s tiny apartment or if he’s thinking of the nosey neighbors they’d shared paper-thin walls with in their tenement. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter. He loses the thread under the barrage of pleasure. Steve bites back a plea, trying to keep quiet as instructed. Unable to use his hands the way he wants, he slides his feet back and forth across the carpet just for the sake of it, panting as Bucky’s motions grow more intense. That tell-tale feeling is swirling in his belly, tingling at the base of his spine, making him worry he won’t be able to hold out. But just as the thought crosses his mind, Bucky stiffens, grinding down hard, his hips stuttering. His mouth at Steve’s neck opens wide for a long moment as he tenses, on the precipice, then he bites down hard, growling as he jerks through his release. The sharp pain breaks the last of Steve’s control and he moans long and hard as his own climax crashes over him.

Long minutes later, they’re slumped together and Steve’s finally allowed to wrap his arms around his omega. He nuzzles against Bucky and pushes his hands under Bucky’s shirt so he can drag the scent glands at his wrists across the warm skin there, marking him. Eventually, they cool down and the inside of his sweats start to feel uncomfortably icky.

“I think I have the squishier end of this deal,” Bucky retorts, grabbing Steve’s hand and pressing it to the seat of his pants where his omega slick has completely drenched the fabric.

“Winner, winner,” Steve teases as he stands, hoisting Bucky up along with him. He carries the omega down the hall to the bath.

Over the next three weeks they learn about frozen yogurt, wind turbines, conga drums, hockey gloves, and a dozen other things. They stain every pair of sweats they own and try out half a dozen new bubble bath scents. It’s all worth it when finally, Bucky can sit, completely relaxed, in Steve’s lap.


	4. Step 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not all smooth sailing...

They had so much success with steps one through three, they’re completely caught off guard by Bucky’s reaction to Step Four.

In theory, it should be easy, a minor progression of what they’ve already spent nearly a month getting comfortable with. The goal: Bucky sits in Steve’s lap for ten minutes, back to chest, just like before. The change: Bucky is nude while Steve is clothed.

That one simple change throws everything on its ear.

The first time they try, Bucky falls limp and silent almost as soon as he sits. The transformation is so quick and complete, Steve has to grab him to keep him from falling to the floor. It’s immediately clear it’s some kind of conditioning. Docile and silent, Bucky’s unfocused eyes stare a million miles away and his muscles offer no resistance to Steve’s handling. Worse, he’s completely unresponsive and ignores attempts to rouse him. When the disassociation hits the hour mark despite Steve working sweatpants onto him, the blankets layered on and around him, and the change in position, Steve finally breaks down and calls the therapist on her emergency line for help talking him back around. When he’s once again aware, he has no explanation for what happened.

For the next week, Steve refuses to even entertain trying again, despite Bucky insisting he wants to try. There’s no guarantee it won’t happen again and it’s not worth the risk. But Bucky is every bit as stubborn as Steve. After lengthy discussion and negotiation, they agree to go back to Step Three, thinking maybe they’d rushed it. But Bucky now does Three with such ease and lucidity, the regressions seems pointless. They try Four again. With the same disastrous results. It takes two more failed attempts to isolate the issue.

Nudity.

In hindsight, it seems obvious, but it truly didn’t occur to them. Bucky’s not even the slightest bit shy about his body. More than once he’s left the shower to come tell Steve something that just occurred to him without giving so much as a thought to grabbing a towel along the way. It just doesn’t seem to matter, particularly if Bucky has something more interesting on his mind. But they discovered quite a while back that heavy, layered clothing pulled him towards a tactical, mission-oriented mindset. The first challenge in his deprogramming was that clothing equals fighting. Why wouldn’t the opposite be true?

The clothed/ unclothed dichotomy was something HYDRA really enjoyed, the power dynamics of the Asset being the only nude person in a room, receiving clothes only for missions to emphasize his position at the very bottom of the hierarchy. While everyone else was fully clothed and armed to the teeth, he was kept completely naked, unable to control who saw him at his most exposed and vulnerable, unable to reject their opinions about his body, their unsolicited touches, their lewd comments about what they’d like to do to him, unable to hide any item or reaction from his handlers. Forced nudity was so common and expected that it became Bucky’s normal and he still doesn’t think much of it despite knowing logically that it was wrong and a violation of his autonomy.

The triggering trauma instead came from being trotted out like a toy when they _really_ wanted to impress a new big wig who had a particular proclivity. The Asset would be ordered to climb onto a lap, to lie back quiet and still, while his body was stimulated, his arousal and reactions nothing more than an amusement for a powerbroker who discussed destruction and domination while distractedly teasing the Asset towards a release he might or might not ever receive permission to attain. Sometimes this was followed by his temporary owner mounting the Asset, taking what they wanted as though it was their right. Almost always without even bothering to undress. The scenario didn’t happen enough for his conditioned mind to accept it as normal. It instead coded the rough rasp of cloth against his bare skin in this particular position as particularly frightening and overwhelming.

They try to figure out how to ease into it. First, they try switching: Bucky clothed while Steve’s nude. That goes fine. Bucky’s now more than comfortable sitting clothed in Steve’s lap and he’s never had any issue with Steve’s nudity. While he doesn’t mind more practice, it does nothing to make the idea of the reverse less distressing.

Next, they try Bucky nude but facing a clothed Steve. While it wasn’t challenging or even particularly helpful, it was definitely a lot of fun, ending with Steve fingering Bucky until they’re both filthy with slick and cum.

The next logical step would be for them to both be nude. Bucky rejects that idea outright.

“Too much, too soon,” he says. “Plus, I really want to work through this trigger. It’s just like being afraid of mounting.”

Finally, they bring it to Bucky’s therapist who suggests going back through steps one through three, but with Bucky nude and Steve clothed. They readily embrace the idea. The chair sitting isn’t so bad now that they know to incorporate a distraction. Steve reads Bucky the latest chapter of his adventure novel each session and after six days they both feel ready to move on.

Hair brushing is surprisingly sensual with Bucky naked the whole time. And the paddling afterwards is _so_ much hotter. They ended it after four days to Steve’s disappointment even though it was clear they only went that long because of how much Steve likes it rather than because Bucky needed it.

Step Three they modify, since the nudity is the only difference between it and Step Four. Bucky is still nude, but he’s sitting sideways, neither facing Steve the way he’s comfortable with nor facing away which he can’t handle yet. Perfectly in between. Steve’s hands are wedged under his own thighs, not touching Bucky or restricting his movement in any way, letting the omega sit and move however he needs. This time, Bucky reads to Steve. They figured it would him stay grounded. Each night, Steve hears a little more about the novice detective who uses her whit to stave off danger and solve the case. Slowly, Bucky relaxes and leans a bit more in Steve. But unfailingly at the end of each session, he doesn’t want to be touched. Instead, he spends as long as an hour in a steaming hot bath. His one compromise is allowing Steve to sit beside the tub.

“Well, you’d just be pacing outside the door if you weren’t in here with me,” Bucky teases from where he’s cocooned under a layer of bubbles and warm water.

Six weeks in, Bucky surprises Steve by suddenly shifting, swinging his leg over, and pressing his back to Steve’s chest.

“Don’t,” Bucky cuts him off when he opens his mouth to speak. “Don’t talk. Don’t touch me.”

Steve swallows back the question and relaxes back into the sofa. He can hear the tremble in the omega’s voice, feel the rapid heartbeat, smell the fear mingled with determination. Bucky doesn’t need any added pressure.

After ten long minutes, where all Steve can do is stay quiet and push out supportive pheromones, the timer goes off. Bucky sits up and shifts to stand.

“You did it,” Steve praises him softly, studying every inch of the omega’s face for reaction.

Bucky nods. His eyes are wide, spooked. If he were a cat, his every hair would be standing on end.

Steve’s seconds away from offering to draw bath water when Bucky finally speaks.

“ _Down.”_

The order is firm and Bucky points to the floor so there is no confusion. As Steve slides to his proper place the floor, Bucky settles into his seat on the sofa. Now, he’s above Steve who’s knelt down between the man’s legs.

Bucky grasps his own cock. It’s completely limp. He gives it a few perfunctory strokes that have no effect.

“Suck,” he commands.

Steve readily opens his mouth, leans forward, pulls in the soft flesh. He closes his eyes, focusing. While Bucky’s had the opportunity to do this dozens of times pre-serum, Steve has rarely been able to experience Bucky this way. He’s usually at least partially erect when they decide to play. In the back of his mind, Steve catalogs the differences. Somewhere between a shower and a grower, Bucky couldn’t be described as ‘small’ regardless of his state of arousal. Even soft his cock is a challenging mouthful though not on par with when he’s fully erect. With a reverent moan, Steve runs his tongue along the flaccid length, pressing it hard against his palate, memorizing the feel, willing it to life.

It takes a little work, but eventually Bucky begins to respond. Steve sucks greedily, savoring the feel of burgeoning arousal, pumping, plumping, growing harder between his lips and across his tongue.

They find a rhythm, fall into it, Steve working hard to give Bucky what he wants, what he needs. Bucky is silent, using forceful touch to give commands, becoming more aggressive the more aroused he grows. Steve readily obeys, lets his mind float, sinking into that weightless space he’s only ever reached with Bucky.

He doesn’t know how long he drifts before rough hands in his hair pull his head back. He peers up, dazed but still sucking hard and steady at the hard shaft in his mouth, taking as much as he can, as much as he’s given. Cool eyes peer back, studying him. He can only imagine how he looks, eyes wide, pupils blown, skin flush, lips stretched greedily, wide and tight around a now fat, pulsing cock. A bitter blurt of pre-cum floods his mouth, salty and reassuring, savory proof of desire. He swallows hard, drawing a groan of pleasure from Bucky and a dismayed groan of his own as a tiny dribble escapes, leaking from the corners of his mouth. He pulls off to lick at the spill, wanting every drop. Then he leans back in, taking that beautiful cock, letting it slide, back, back, back until it’s a hard, wide pressure seated in his throat and his nose is tickled by wiry hair. As he settles, there’s a certain peace in it, feeling his own heartbeat synch with the hard pulsing of cock on his tongue and his throat. He revels in it, holding as long as he can then pulls back for a few hurried gasps before quickly leaning back in, open and accepting. Over and over. A perfect rhythm.

He moves to pull back once more only for a fierce grip to hold him down. He jerks and moans, the panic of breathlessness competing with the excitement, sparking then flaming at the game they play from time to time, but with a harder, sharper edge.

He loves it.

Sucking harder, he tries to show exactly how much. He runs his tongue around enthusiastically and swallows, working to give that awe-inspiring rippling sensation even as his empty lungs ache and burn. The perfect edge of fear and lust sharpen into tight wire wrapped around his balls making his cock jerk with need. He’s shaking with it, close to cumming just from the thought of what he’s doing, when he feels a leg nudge between his thighs. If he had the breath, he’d groan. Instead he quietly accepts the permission, thankful for the serum that gave him freak of nature lungs, and arches his back to grind his cock against the hard bone and muscle, squeezes his thighs painfully tight around it, searching for deeper friction. He sucks desperately and humps, feeling wild, nearly animalistic, as need floods over him, the burn of oxygen deprivation prickling across his brain. His movement gets jerkier and he looks up, begging with his eyes.

Bucky stares back, eyes unreadable, even as his cock pulses pre-fluids into Steve’s willing mouth. Steve lets his gaze fall back down and loses himself in the silky hardness, the salty flavor, anything to help him ignore the ache in his chest and the mind-melting friction between his thighs. The first tickling thought of his safety motion begins to form, but he doesn’t want to. Not yet.

He nearly sobs when he’s let up just enough to draw a lungful of air. When he feels a hard squeeze of permission to the back of his neck he doesn’t even bother holding back. His mouth goes slack as his body seizes and gratefully tumbles into completion, finally letting go the tension that’s been building so long. It’s indescribable and perfect, sharp and painful, warm and tingling, his lungs reveling in fresh oxygen, his brain swimming in endorphins. When he finally comes back to himself, he’s breathing heavily around the swollen flesh in his mouth. Hazy, he closes his mouth and suckles, but it’s far more sluggish and unhurried than before. A sharp, displeased cuff to the side of his head, not painful but firm and admonishing, brings him back, reminds him of his unfinished task.

He sucks harder, tighter, bobs his head up and down a few times before relaxing his throat to take in as much as he can. He’s pushed down harder, faster, longer until he’s gasping for air every time he comes up. Finally, the hand keeps him down so long, he starts to feel dizzy, not having quite regained his breath from before. But he still doesn’t fight. He accepts it, keeping his body loose and pliant, his sucking steady and firm. Just as darkness starts to close in, he’s released. He’s panting, spots dancing in front of his eyes when he feels splashes of heat striping across his face and chest. Moaning, he collapses forward, his head resting on the hard muscle of Bucky’s thigh. His whole body tingles. As adrenaline fades sleepiness is pulling at him. He lazily swipes his tongue at Bucky’s cock seeking the last few streaks, but eventually settles for nuzzling the juncture of Bucky’s thighs, licking at the smears of omega slick coating the skin. He didn’t think it was possible to feel this good, this well-used and sated. He sighs, slumping further down into the cradle of his omega’s body.

He’s nearly asleep when he’s startled by a drop of wetness falling on his neck. Jerking, he looks up.

And sees Bucky crying. No. Sobbing. So hard he’s not even making a sound.

“Buck?! What’s wrong,” he asked kneeling up, his eyes scanning frantically over the man for what could have caused this. Now that he’s fully awake, he has no idea how he didn’t smell distress before.

“I…,” Bucky tries to say before dissolving further into tears.

“You what?” Steve asks, completely confused.

“Am I like _them_?” he whispers, voice wavering. Steve doesn’t have to ask who ‘them’ is.

“What? No!”

“But I… I made you… you almost…” he chokes out through tears.

“You didn’t make me anything,” Steve insists. “You _can’t_ make me. I don’t do anything I don’t want to. You’re _nothing_ like them.”

Bucky blinks, sniffles, uncertainty painfully obvious in his gaze.

“ _Nothing_ ,” Steve repeats firmly, barely resisting the urge to put his Alpha voice behind it.

Bucky nods and hiccups, rubs at his face, trying to pull himself together. After a long while he looks at Steve.

“Can I have a hug?” he asks almost shyly.

“Can you… you can have _all_ the hugs,” Steve says emphatically, pulling the omega into his arms.

They end up falling asleep there on the floor, but it’s worth all the morning chill when he wakes up to realize Bucky hasn’t pulled out of his embrace.

**Author's Note:**

> So, my goal for each chapter is to show them trying to balance Bucky’s omega needs with his dominant nature and Steve’s submissive personality with his alpha instinct. I do not in any way want it to come across as Steve martyring himself for Bucky’s sake. The intent is for them to do a physical act that is emotionally challenging to meet a therapy goal and then something sub/dom that lets them rebalance into their preferred ABO dynamic for cathartic release. I would love feedback that lets me know if I’m striking that balance or suggestions of how I might get there if you think I missed the mark. Thanks!


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